


the dream keeps coming

by outwardbound93



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outwardbound93/pseuds/outwardbound93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's been surrounded by the same people for the last five years, and they’re here now, saying goodbye the One Direction way. These are people that Niall knows and loves, and he’ll see them again, he knows. But he also knows that it won’t be the same. That this is the last time they’ll be a family, at least for a while. Louis’s got a baby coming any day now. Liam has a wedding to plan. They’re all going off in different directions. </p><p>Or, Niall navigates the days and then months post-One Direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dream keeps coming

**Author's Note:**

> written in 3 days and uploaded on my birthday, because my life is nothing if not a celebration of one direction. title is from stevie nicks's "after the glitter fades."

There’s always half a second of silence after the band finishes playing in which the final chord echoes in Niall’s in-ears before the relay from the instruments and mics falls silent and the crowds’ screams barrel into him. The moment of silence feels especially long tonight, the final note of “Never Enough” stretching out long after Sandy’s flattened his palm over the strings and his guitar’s gone quiet.

And then, like a rubber band snapping time back to regular speed, it’s over. Niall passes his guitar off to a stage tech on his way backstage with the boys. There are still half a dozen ARIAs left to be awarded, but he and Louis and Liam and Harry head straight for their cars. The label’s got them hosting an after-party this year, so it’s straight out the back and into a Range Rover. 

"How’d it feel?” Deo asks, sandwiched into the backseat with Niall and Liam. Bas is driving, and his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror to catch Niall’s and Liam’s response. “Playing for the last time, that is.” 

Niall can’t help the way his face goes stony even though he knows it’s a dead giveaway. Liam’s eyes slide over to Niall even as a grin breaks out over his face. “We're only going on hiatus,” he corrects Deo, “but it felt great.” 

Niall presses the button to lower the window, and he leans his head halfway out, letting the wind dry the sweat in his hair. Great, he thinks. Yeah, that too. 

***

By the time Niall’s finished showering and getting dressed and Lou’s come by to tease his hair up into a quiff, the party has spread past the suite Syco specially reserved. Niall had seen it before, with Zayn, the last time they were in Sydney together. 

Louis’d been out with Eleanor, so he and Zayn had dipped into Zayn’s special stash and wandered up to the penthouse suite because they’d heard it had a bowling alley in it. It didn’t, but Zayn did vomit, hilariously, over the side of the balcony after a few too many shots of Patron. Niall remembers laying on his back on the living room floor, his head tipped up to watch Zayn sag over the railing. The stars looked like they were swirling in some great cosmic toilet bowl, and Niall closed his eyes, squeezing his hands together over his stomach. Then they’d gone back to Zayn’s room and played Mario Party until they fell asleep. 

This time, the suite is jam-packed with every crew member and label exec and celebrity able to swing an invitation. Justin and Selena had even come, stopping by the dressing rooms before the show to say hello. It’s not as awkward as it could be between them, all things considered. Justin had even asked if Niall wanted to schedule a session to write together. Louis’d just shaken his head with that same twisted half-smile he always had, and said, “Only you.” 

A local DJ is blasting a remix of Adele’s new album, the bass thumping. Niall makes his way to the bar. Louis is already there, his arm slung around Liam’s neck. Their faces are flushed with alcohol and happiness, and when Louis spots Niall, he immediately drops the conversation he was having with someone from the label. “Niall!” he shouts, and for all the flack Louis’s gotten over the years for his voice, he sure can get loud when he wants. “Shots!” 

And it’s easy, and familiar, and fun. He’s been surrounded by the same people for the last five years, and they’re here now, saying goodbye the One Direction way. These are people that Niall knows and loves, and he’ll see them again, he knows. But he also knows that it won’t be the same. That this is the last time they’ll be a family, at least for a while. Louis’s got a baby coming any day now. Liam has a wedding to plan. They’re all going off in different directions. 

Ed greets Niall by pressing a bottle of beer into his hand and enveloping him in a hug. His arms go tight around Niall’s shoulders, and for a second, Niall relaxes. Ed’s been wearing the same cologne for four years. “You’ve got no excuse to dodge me now,” he nudges Niall. 

“Oi, and why not? I can always think of a reason to avoid you,” Niall teases him.

Ed rolls his eyes. He leans in to speak into Niall’s ear. The party’s reaching record-breaking levels. Maybe they’ll even have security called on them. That would be a nice rock-star moment, Niall thinks, and wishes he had a cap to pull down over his face. “Shove off, prick. You’re a solo act now! Acoustic Niall?” Ed pulls back to smile at him, his eyebrows raised. He leans in again. “You’ll let me know, eh? I’d love to write together.” 

Niall forces a smile and nods. Songwriters and producers have been popping out of the woodwork ever since they announced they wouldn’t be touring for album five, that they’d be going on hiatus. At least Ed’s a friend. He gives Niall a cheeky kiss on the top of his cheek and ducks away to take a call, and Niall takes a drag off the beer Ed had given him. It’s a lager, not bitter enough by half, but it reminds him of the time he’s spent in Melbourne on break from tour and it’s not so bad. 

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re sad,” someone says in Niall’s ear, and he knows before he even turns around who it is. Harry has his hands folded behind his back like he always does when he’s not sure what to do with them, so Niall knows he must be at least as drunk as Niall is. He looks a little vampiric, with his big intense eyes and red lips and black suit, and Niall wants to remind him that it’s not Halloween anymore, Harold. 

“What should I be doing instead, crying into my pillow? Anyway, I’m not sad. You’re sad.” Even though Harry’s not, really. Niall thinks he is, but he’s not sure why. Now that their commitments to One Direction promo are over, Harry’s booked solid with meetings and writing sessions for the next six months. Maybe a solo album after that.

They’d all had plans, but it felt wrong to start writing after tour wrapped up, and it feels wrong now, without Julian or John or Jamie. It just feels…wrong. 

Harry smiles slowly. “It’s getting crowded in here,” he observes, and Niall feels himself start to sweat. “Do you want to take a walk?” He’s made the rounds, Niall thinks, and it’s not like they’re leaving the party unattended. One of the benefits of belonging to a four-piece, he thinks. Niall sets down his beer and gestures for Harry to lead the way. 

The party spills out of the penthouse suite and over into adjoining rooms. It’s not like some of the parties Niall’s been to in LA or London, where coke’s passed around like a party favor, but it’s wilder than most of their parties tend to get. Harry palms a door open and they step into a private gym. Niall’s rewarded with merciful quiet. It’s not big, but it’s got a couple of treadmills and an elliptical and a weight bench, all pristine-looking. 

Niall can’t help but snort and give Harry an exasperated look. “Look, I know I’m eating healthier, but I’m not about to do any yoga.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I could balance, either. Maybe like…floor yoga.” 

“Only if your bad back can take it, old man,” Niall smiles, following Harry to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the gym.

Harry just shrugs. “Anyway, the view is nice.” He presses a palm to the glass and bends his head toward the window, looking down on Sydney below. Niall’s alright with heights as long as he doesn’t feel like he’s about to take a plunge without a parachute on his back. He keeps a solid step between himself and the window. 

“What did Ed say to you?” Harry asks, his eyes stilled trained on the city below. It’s a great view, Niall will admit. The city is sprawling in an orderly way, straight city blocks and spiking skyscrapers. It’s the kind of place Niall could see himself living someday. Or now, he supposes. Why not? 

Niall shrugs. “You know Ed. Taking the piss. Offered me some advice.” 

“Christ. Lad writes one platinum album about love and he thinks he’s the next Cupid,” Harry smiles. “My favorite song of his is still ‘Photograph.’”

Niall laughs. “Not that kind of advice, you idiot. I meant music.”

“Oh.” Harry peels his forehead off of the window but keeps his eyes trained down, his brow wrinkling. “So you and Melly aren’t…” 

“What?” Niall coughs. Sure, he’d invited her to the party, and she’d greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, but they’d been friends, too. And she’d been such a legend about the fans. There weren’t many people willing to deal with that. But, like. It’d never been serious, whatever that meant. However that happened. “No. It’s not like that.” 

Harry finally faces him. He has that look in his eyes again, the one that Niall can only bear for so long before he has to look away, his cheeks warm. “I don’t see why not,” he murmurs. 

Even Niall’s ears feel hot, and he looks down at his toes. He can still feel Harry’s eyes on him, adoring. Christ knows why Harry looks at him like that. “Besides,” Harry adds softly, “you’ll be fine. Our very own Keith Richards.” 

“That’s pretty egotistical, don’t you think? Since you’re Mick.” Niall raises an eyebrow at Harry. He can’t resist the urge to chew on his cuticle. Harry’s words echo in his head, “You’ll be fine.” It feels soothing and sure, like wrestling his anxiety back into the little cage he keeps it in. 

Maybe Harry knows he needs that, Niall thinks. The thought is too intensely personal, and his eyes drop back down. Harry’s toes come into Niall’s line of sight, almost nudging Niall’s own. 

“Niall,” Harry mutters, his voice hoarse. Niall’s heart has started beating faster, and he’s not sure why. He looks up. “Can I kiss you?” 

“What?” Niall asks again. He half-laughs nervously. But he doesn’t step away. He doesn’t feel like he can. “Haz.”

Harry must take this as consent, because he leans in and smears his mouth across Niall’s. He tilts his head and takes better aim, aligning his lips to Niall’s. Niall can smell the rum on his breath when Harry breathes out, and his lips are soft and sweet and sticky. Harry’s eyes are closed but Niall’s aren’t; he can see the faint veins traced across the thin skin of Harry’s eyelids, and the tangles in his eyelashes, and the remnants of acne on his forehead. He looks so familiar.

Niall closes his eyes, and it’s like his body finally remembers what it’s supposed to do, what it wants to do, because his arms go up around Harry’s neck and he shuffles closer, pressing his chest against Harry’s. He’s used to a soft warm body and breasts, and this is so different. Harry’s so solid and broad, and the muscles in his back flex as he pulls Niall in by his hips. Harry’s hair tickles Niall’s cheek. Tom Ford cologne and heat and alcohol swirl together in Niall’s head, and it all feels so good. So far away from everything. 

Harry pulls back for a breath. “Again?” he asks. Niall nods, and he doesn’t protest when Harry presses him up against the window. He just keeps his eyes closed. Niall presses his palms flat against Harry’s back when Harry’s hands slide down to grope his arse, and Niall kind of wants to make a joke. Harry’s grabbed his bum hundreds of times, just not like this. Harry’s hips press against his, and Niall can feel that he’s hard. Harry pulls his mouth away from Niall’s jaw to murmur, “Should we, ah, take this back to my room, maybe?”

Niall’s eyes flutter open and oh, yeah, there’s a party just on the other side of the door. “Mine’s closer,” he finds himself answering. 

The ride down to their floor is quiet. It’s not awkward – it’s never awkward between Niall and Harry – but Harry’s shoulder is leaned against Niall’s with intent, and that’s new. Harry presses close to Niall’s back as Niall fumbles with his keycard. The door opens with a soft click. Niall goes to the mini fridge and pulls out two beers. Harry shrugs out of his suit jacket and accepts his drink with a soft thanks. Niall sits down on the edge of the bed. 

This could be any other night after a concert, Niall thinks. Too early to go to sleep, and too hyped up to settle down on the bus with Louis and Liam. Any second now Harry might throw himself across the bed with his journal and Niall would put on a match or a golf tournament. Pull open twitter and thumb through his feed while Harry hummed to himself quietly under the sports commentary until he felt blurry-eyed enough to pass out. 

Harry sits down on the armchair across from him, his beer bottle dangling from his fingertips. He’s still got the same old rings on. The silver one with the bears, a gift from Lux, and the one with the blue stone that he’d gotten on the Machu Picchu trip with Liam. Lux was just a baby when this all started. “Niall,” he says quietly. Harry looks at him intently, and Niall lets him look. Harry must see something that he approves of, because he sets his beer aside and slides to his knees in front of Niall. There’s something pleading about it, or maybe that’s just Niall’s imagination. Harry’s hands are cold when he pulls Niall’s face down to his. Niall kisses him back eagerly.

Harry’s mouth feels almost familiar against his now. It’s newly fierce, almost urgent, and even though Harry still kisses slowly, he presses harder, his fingers digging into Niall’s thighs. His hand goes for Niall’s zipper, and Niall’s hips thrust up even as he bites Harry’s lip a little too hard. 

He opens his eyes, and the world rushes back in. Niall can hear the party still raging on upstairs. It probably won’t break up till dawn, and even then, Niall’s sure every couch will be occupied. Louis’s flying back to LA and Liam’s going with him to help set up Louis’s label. Niall’s meant to write with the McBusted lads when he gets back to London, but he’s not sure whether he wants that to happen sooner or later.

“Stop,” Harry murmurs. “Stop thinking,” he adds, and puts his hand down Niall’s pants. He’s been hard for ages, feels like, but when Harry’s hand starts moving, it feels so good, like a release he didn’t know he needed. Niall’s hips shift restlessly on the bed. Harry licks his lips, and then he takes him in his mouth. It takes everything Niall has not to come right then, not to close his eyes, because he wants to remember this. The way Harry looks with his mouth stretched around Niall, his cheeks hollowing. 

Niall can’t resist the urge to reach out and stroke Harry’s cheek. Without opening his eyes, Harry grabs his hand and puts it in his own hair. It takes Niall a moment to get the idea, but when he grabs a handful of Harry’s hair and pulls gently, then harder, Harry lets out a groan that Niall feels down to his toes. 

It doesn’t take long after that until Niall’s coming down Harry’s throat. “Glad you decided to start eating healthy,” Harry says hoarsely when he pulls off, and Niall can’t help but laugh. Somewhere along the way he fell back, and now he’s looking up at the crenellated hotel room ceiling. He almost feels high, he’s so relaxed. 

Harry sneaks one hand up Niall’s pant leg to palm his calf like he knows it’s instinct for Niall to kick out when Harry starts kissing up Niall’s knee. His breath is warm and wet through the thin fabric of Niall’s dress pants, and his scar feels oversensitive. They both laugh and Harry sits back on his heels. 

He trains his eyes on Niall like he’s assessing him. Before he can say something, well, Harry, Niall pulls on his collar. “Get up here.” Harry climbs onto his lap and presses his mouth to Niall’s. He can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. Niall slips his hands into the open sides of Harry’s shirt, his skin soft and smooth over his muscled chest. He’s still hard. “What do you want?” 

Harry gives Niall an open-mouthed peck and runs his tongue over the bristles on Niall’s chin like a cat, and even though it’s weird and ridiculous, Niall shivers. “You can fuck me,” Harry says. Niall goes still. Harry pulls back a bit so they can see each other. “If you want to. Please.” 

“I – I’ve never –” Niall feels the blush climbing up his chest and spreading to his cheeks. 

“‘S okay. I’ve got slick.” He slides off Niall’s lap to go over to his jacket, and Niall pushes himself up the bed, wriggling out of his trousers as he goes. Harry stands in front of Niall, his hand loosely clutching the bottle of lube. Niall’s seen Harry naked at least a dozen times over the years, but this is different. He tries to ignore the way his hands tremble when he unfastens the only two buttons Harry had fastened on his shirt and pushes it down his shoulders, and then he unbuckles Harry’s belt. He drags it through the loops and lets it drop to the hotel room floor. It makes a distinct metallic sound when it hits the floor. 

Harry pinches Niall’s eyebrow. “Hey,” he says, smiling when Niall makes an aggravated sound. “Just me, you know.” 

“Well, when you put it that way,” Niall mutters, but Harry’s right. Except that Harry’s jeans prove almost too tight to get off. He falls onto the bed, laughing, next to Niall when they get stuck around his thighs. Niall stands back up and tugs on the hem of Harry’s skinny jeans, and Harry lets out a strangled squeak when his whole body slides down the bed an inch. “Why do you have such giant feet and such tiny jeans?” Niall mutters, not half-joking. 

Harry’s too busy laughing to answer. “C’mere,” he says, and somewhere in their kiss, they manage to get Harry’s trousers and pants off. Niall’s go next.

It takes a long time, longer than Niall’s used to fingering a girl, but by the time Harry’s ready, he’s found the place that makes Harry arch his back off the bed and bite his lip raw. The sounds he makes have Niall hard again. 

It’s hard, at first, and Niall can tell that it hurts, so he goes so so slow. He waits until Harry’s knees squeeze his hips and he gives a nod, and then Niall starts moving. He changes his angle until he finds the one that Harry can’t keep quiet, and he repeats it relentlessly until Harry’s babbling. “So good so good perfect just like that, just like that, ah, ah, ah,” and Harry comes all over his own stomach. Niall manages to hold out until Harry palms his bum and pulls him in even deeper, his eyes soft, and then he comes in the condom so long he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. 

“I think,” Harry says, when Niall’s tied the condom off and thrown it in the bin, and Harry’s haphazardly wiped himself off with the edge of the duvet they leave on the floor, “beginner’s luck was really in our favor.” 

Niall guffaws and rolls his eyes so hard they hit the back of his skull, and then he whomps Harry in the face with one of the too-soft hotel pillows. Harry just smiles back at him, his thumb stroking Niall’s cheek. Niall shuffles closer to him in the bed, his eyes unbearably heavy. 

“You’ll be fine,” Harry says, for some reason, but before Niall can ask, he’s asleep. 

When Niall wakes up in the morning, he’s alone. He doesn’t see Harry when he knocks on his hotel room door, or when he goes down to the lobby, or at the airport when he hugs Liam and Louis farewell and checks his bags to fly back to the UK. 

In fact, Niall doesn’t see Harry again for almost four months. 

***

The first order of business of being summarily unemployed, Niall decides, is to check on his house in Ireland. He hasn’t been back since Christmastime last year, and it’d been just a pop-in before he flew to holiday with the lads in Melbourne. He makes a list on the flight back to London, an overnight stop to drop his bags and repack before the flight to Dublin the next morning. 

The press clamors for Niall’s attention as soon as they disembark, and it’s all the same questions as ever. “Niall! Are Harry and Louis really in a relationship?” “Niall! Do you think you have a chance for a Grammy nomination this year?” “Niall! Is it true Liam’s marrying Sophia in Sweden, and if so, are you going?” 

Niall just waves a hand in greeting and keeps his chin tucked down. In the early days, they’d all flown everywhere together, it’d seemed like. Sometimes Niall stills finds himself looking for the back of Zayn’s head to follow. He stills expects to hear Louis’s voice at his back, slurring insults at the paps. Niall shakes his head. 

Willie’s there to pick up Niall from the airport. “Well?” he asks. “How was it?” 

It takes a moment for Niall to even think of what Willie’s referring to. He thinks of the stage, of the familiar weight of the mic in his hands. “Fast,” Niall answers. “‘T’was over fast, seems like.” 

Willie glances at him sideways. “Anyway,” he coughs, “is your mum or da meeting you at the airport?” 

“Da,” Niall answers. “We’re having a round of golf if you want to come.” 

“I can’t,” Willie says. A blush colors his fair skin. “I’ve got a date, actually.” 

Niall leans back against the seat. A heavy weight presses down on him. Different directions, he thinks, and swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Willie pulls the Range Rover into the garage and turns it over. The engine pops as it cools, loud in the sudden silence. Niall releases his seat belt buckle and it slides across his lap. His door swings open. Everything feels very loud and deliberate. Willie’s popped the boot to get their luggage out. 

“There’s still the Grammys,” Willie whispers to Niall when Niall rounds the boot to grab his own suitcase. His eyebrows go up hopefully, and Niall just insists, “I’m fine,” a little too hard. He rolls his suitcase over his foot when he tries to pull it up to the door. He swears under his breath, and Willie reaches past him to open the door. 

The house is just as he left it three days ago. Willie’s left a bit of a mess in the kitchen and there’s a throw blanket draped over the back of the couch that ought to be folded up in the linen cupboard, but it’s just as Niall remembers. Including the numerous awards scattered across his house, and the memorabilia. He’s had jerseys framed and posted to his walls, and of course the pictures of himself and the others with famous musicians. The five of them and Ronnie Wood at X-Factor, himself and Eddie Vedder and his daughters in Seattle, the four of them and Lindsey Buckingham. 

There’s one that Harry sent him of Harry with Stevie Nicks, an impish smile on her face like Harry’d just told her something naughty. It made Niall laugh when he got the email, and he’d printed it up and stuck it on his wall. It’d been inspiration for album five: if even their own Harold could make Stevie Nicks smile, there was hope for all of them. 

It’s too much to deal with right now. Should Niall get rid of all of it, make a clean start? Or leave it all up, like he meant to, always One Direction’s biggest fan? He doesn’t know if he can.

Niall busies himself with emptying his suitcase, sorting his laundry into piles for the wash, ironing the shirts he wants to take with him to Ireland. His room hasn’t been vacuumed in a while, so he takes care of that, too. He puts cleaner in the toilet in his en suite and changes out the shower curtain liner, because he can’t remember the last time he did that. 

Willie goes to bed, so when Niall runs out of errands to do except moving the laundry from washer to dryer and starting the next load, he sits on the couch by himself. As usual, every time he sits down with nothing to do, he starts to feel like ants are crawling down his shirt. Louis and Liam are setting up Louis’s label. Harry’s probably going to book time at a recording studio himself for a solo album, and Zayn’s already put out his first two singles from his album. Hmm. The seed of an idea starts growing in Niall’s brain, but he pushes it away. One thing at a time. He has a list. 

Instead, he gets up to fold his laundry and put a new load in. He lingers over the suit he’d been wearing in Sydney. It needs to be dry-cleaned. If he asks, Willie will take it in for him with his own dry-clean-onlies. Niall glances down the hall to check that Willie’s door is still closed and holds his shirt to his nose. It smells like the shots of whiskey Louis’d made him take, his cologne, and Harry. 

For the millionth time since he’d woken up, Niall checks his phone. No missed calls. No new texts from Harry. Niall licks his lips, and then he presses his finger to Harry’s name on his favorites list. The phone rings once, twice, and then Niall hangs up. What the hell is he doing? If Harry wanted to talk to him, he wouldn’t have moved his flight up to get out of town before Niall woke up. Niall had checked with Harry’s PA. He could’ve called, or texted. Smoke signaled. Whatever. 

Niall jammed the suit on a hanger and left a note asking Willie to take it to the cleaners. 

Niall crosses laundry off his list and moves on to the next thing. Shower. Sleep. Ireland. 

***

Bobby hits the ball off the tee far better than his son can, even without tips from a pro, and Niall grumbles under his breath. The green is treating him well, though. It’s almost a sunny day for the Midlands, and the smell of fresh-cut grass and the manure used to fertilize the flowerbeds has him as relaxed as he’s been since before the Syco party. 

“How soon do you think we can get Theo out here?” Niall asks, shielding his eyes from the sun to see where the ball lands. It’s not too close to the flag. Niall thinks he can catch up. 

“Tomorrow, if you like,” Greg smiles. As always, it’s a little bit strange to see his brother. Niall has been calling the boys his brothers for so long now that he sometimes forgets about Greg. He’s wearing Niall’s newsboy cap, and he would mind except that Bobby had taken the piss out of him for it. “Denise and I would love it if you wanted more Uncle Niall time with the little fella. The terrible twos are hitting him hard.” 

“Cheeky little chap,” Niall laughs, thinking of Greg driven to his wits’ end by a toddler. 

“Just wait till you have one of your own,” Bobby laughs. 

A kid of his own. Not that Niall’s opposed to the idea, but that feels a million miles away from where Niall’s at now. 

Greg wipes the sweat from his brow. “When’s Louis’s due, again?” 

Niall shrugs. “Any day now, really. He says you never really know with ‘em, though. They just sorta pop out when they want.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Bobby adds. Then, “Come on, lads. Let’s get through this so we can get to the pub before they run out of shepherd’s pie. 

They’re there in time for shepherd’s pie, but not for lemon pudding.

***

“Are you sure you don’t mind babysitting?” Denise asks the next day when she’s dropping Theo off at Niall’s house. She thrusts the diaper bag into Niall’s hand, her hair falling down a little around her face, like she doesn’t really want to give Niall time to rescind his offer. 

He’s bouncing Theo on his knee. Theo munches on a Cheerio that he’d fished out of the top of some kind of puzzly anti-spill cup, his eyes glued to the television in the corner. Niall has it tuned to kids’ telly. It’d taken him ages to find the proper channel; he couldn’t remember any of the stations. 

Niall waves her off. “No, no. The little man and I will be alright, won’t we, Theo?” 

“It’s just with the baby on the way, I don’t know where to find the time to take a shower,” Denise laughs, obviously distracted. 

Niall’s stomach clenches. “Baby?” he whispers. 

“Oh.” Denise’s face pales. “Don’t tell Greg I told you, okay? It’s early on, no one’s meant to know. But.” She bites her lip, a smile creasing her cheeks. “Yeah, we think so.” 

Niall has to swallow several times to talk. “Denise, that’s amazing. Congratulations.” 

“Thanks, Nialler.” She leans in and kisses his forehead, then the top of Theo’s head. “Love you.” She flicks the TV off on her way out, and Theo rounds on Niall at once. Niall’s kept crowds of 80,000 fans entertained for hours, but suddenly, the thought of keeping Theo busy for the rest of the afternoon has him sweating. 

Theo and Niall play with the oversized Legos Denise packed. Niall reads Theo two books. Theo has another snack. Theo plays an educational game on his tablet. Niall helps Theo color a picture for his mama and papa. Somehow only an hour has passed. “How about the park, Theo?” Niall asks out of desperation. 

Theo’s whole face lights up. Niall wrestles him into some pint-sized sneakers and a jacket and gloves, and they’re off. It’s a short walk to the park, and Theo practically skips the whole way there. 

Paps are waiting outside of Niall’s house, of course. Part of him wonders if there’s been somewhere here watching just in case Niall drops by for a weekend. If he stays for longer than that, it’ll only get worse before it gets better. And it could take months or even years before the paps get bored and move on.

Years. Christ. Niall just bundles Theo past them as fast as he can, although the wee little rugrat tries to stop and wave. A Horan for sure. 

The park is the kind of stuff Niall remembers from growing up. It’s not the same park he used to play in, but the creaky swings are the same, and the sand pit is just as woefully rocky, and the lines of the hopscotch are just as faded. He sits Theo on his shoulders and helps him swing across the monkey bars, and something in him settles. He thinks he can remember Greg doing this for him, once, a long time ago. Before he started to feel too responsible for Niall, and so gave up on him entirely. 

Louis has that, but the opposite. He’d never abandon anyone, even when he wishes he could, which is why he’d stayed in a band with Harry for so long. It used to drive Niall mad, the way they’d pick at each other over the same things they used to love each other for. And the more Louis couldn’t get away from Harry, the more Harry pulled away. Niall loved Louis like the big brother he wished he had. 

They stay until Theo gets tired, and then he and Niall start the walk home. He runs into one of his teachers from primary school, Mrs. Dodd. Theo kicks at the sidewalk at their feet while Niall and Mrs. Dodd hug, her face pressed to his shoulder now. “It’s so nice to see you home again,” she says, and it clicks that home is probably always the place where your family is. “We have so many students who ask after you, you know. They want to be just like you. Drop-outs the lot of them,” she laughs, and Niall chuckles, too, “but it’s nice to see them have dreams. What should I tell them you’re up to?” 

“Staying busy,” Niall answers, and wonders if that’s even true. It feels like it, even if it’s less non-stop than he’s used to. 

Funny. That’s what Zayn had said when they were writing “Clouds.” John and Julian and Liam and Louis were searching for the chorus, and Zayn had piped up from his slouch in the corner, his voice strong and pure, with the lyrics, "Another go round for all of my friends / Another nonstop will it ever end." It was so strange, in the aftermath, to look back and see the signs: Zayn wasn’t happy. Zayn was leaving. It just wasn’t something any of them had wanted to think about, so they hadn’t, until he was gone. 

Music still feels real to Niall, though. Maybe that’s the difference. 

“Still working,” he amends. “Just not sure on what yet, I guess.” He laughs only a little awkwardly. 

“Well,” Mrs. Dodd squeezes his arm, “it’s always a pleasure, Niall. And you, young man. I expect to see you in my classroom one day?” Theo blinks drowsily up at Mrs. Dodd, his face pressed to Niall’s leg. 

“I better get him home. See you,” he tells Mrs. Dodd, and heaves Theo up into his arms. Theo slumps over Niall’s shoulder, his face nuzzled into Niall’s throat. He lets out a tiny sigh of satisfaction when Niall starts walking slowly toward home. Niall’s insides hurt, in a good way. 

Niall lays Theo, fast asleep, gently down on his bed when he gets in. A dozen Theo’s could comfortably sleep in Niall’s oversized bed. He’d kept his house in London pretty modest but he’d splurged on his house in Ireland, like he thought someday he’d come back here to stay. Maybe that’s what he’s doing now, coming back to his roots the long way round. Niall’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. 

He pulls the soft blue blanket at the foot of his bed over Theo’s little body and goes to warm up the grill. He can do a little better than a fifteen minute meal now, but nothing beats the slow-roasted satisfaction of a good steak. Or maybe fish, he’s got some of that buried in the back of the freezer. And no need to marinate, either, which Niall has neglected to do. Fish it is.

Greg and Denise stop by when Greg gets off work. “I fancy tea,” Denise says after she and Greg look in on Theo, so she and Niall and Greg sit around his fireplace over hot cups of Irish breakfast. It feels unthinkably domestic. 

“How was the little lad today?” Greg asks. 

“Legend,” Niall answers. “You can give ‘im to me anytime.” 

Now would be a good time for Greg to let his little brother in on the incoming baby, Niall observes. To reconnect. Niall wonders if Greg wants that. Greg says, “So you say now!” and laughs.

Niall crosses his legs and tries to ignore the way his foot jiggles on his knee. “He could have his own room here, if you like. I’ve got the space.” He fiddles with a lock of hair above his ear. 

Surprise crosses Denise’s face. “So you’re really thinking of settling in?” 

Niall shrugs quickly. He could turn another spare bedroom into a recording studio. One without mattresses for sound-proofing. He thinks of Harry laying on his stomach in a hotel room in Brazil, his smile shy and trusting as he pushed his journal across the bed to Niall. “For this one,” he said, “I was thinking you could do the first verse as a solo?” 

Niall had swung his guitar up into his lap as soon as he’d started reading the lyrics, a riff itching in his fingers. “And, like, play, too, d’you think?” he’d asked. 

They ran through it a few times, and the more Niall heard “Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” the more uncomfortable he felt. 

Harry frowned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Maybe Liam or Zayn should get the solo, and I’ll still do guitar. ‘S just.” He could feel his cheeks getting warm. 

“It’s you I want,” Harry had said, and blinked his big eyes, glancing away for a second. “Niall. I love your voice. Okay? So I want it to be you.” 

And God, nothing had felt like singing that solo knowing Ronnie Wood was watching and waiting in the wings. The photo of the five of them and Ronnie had been Niall’s phone background for months afterwards. Harry’d given him that. 

Niall comes back to himself with Greg and Denise giving him the same expectant look, and he shrugs again. “I dunno. I dunno.” 

Greg runs a hand down his chest, his stomach filling in a little now that he’s nearing his thirties. “Let’s throw some food on the grill, shall we?” Greg asks, and Niall agrees. 

They stand outside and watch the coals burn down. “We’re going to lunch with Bobby and Maura Sunday after church,” Greg comments, as if Niall doesn’t know. “Are you coming? If you’re still here.” 

Niall rolls his eyes. “I’ll be here till Sunday, ya git. Jesus. Do you think it’s weird for them?” Niall asks. “Spending time together after they got divorced?” 

“If so, I reckon it’s been odd for about ten years now. Maybe. Probably. Are you thinking about the band?” Greg looks at Niall from under his heavy brows. 

“What?”

“I dunno, like. You’ve been quiet.”

“Denise was talking about me.” 

“We’re married, she’s my wife. It doesn’t count,” Greg returns sharply, fighting a smile. “Anyway, yeah. You could invite the lads back here sometime. I’m sure Bobby would love to see Harry again, anyway.” 

Niall just shakes his head. That’s not something Niall’s about to get into with his big brother. “Maybe,” he just says, and Greg lets it go. 

Niall really does mean to make it to Sunday brunch. It’s just that on his way out of the chapel after Sunday morning service, his phone rings, and it’s Louis’s “Serious Business” number, not his “I’ve Brought My Drunk Phone With Me Tonight With No Important Phone Numbers Saved To It,” so Niall figures he better answer it. 

“‘Lo?”

Louis’s voice comes through the line so excitedly high-pitched that Niall jerks the phone away from his ear, double-checking that it’s the “Serious Business” phone number. Niall’s family moves past him to socialize with family friends Niall scarcely recognizes from five years ago. His priest puts his hand on Niall’s shoulder and Niall feels compelled to hold his phone to his chest so that he can thank him for the sermon and catch up a bit. By the time Niall presses the phone back to his ear, Louis’s worked himself up into a proper strop. 

“-one of the most important days of my life, is all, and I thought you’d want to know, but obviously –” he’s ranting. 

“I was at church, Lou, Christ, sorry! What’s on?” 

“Oh, you know, nothing really, just that I’VE A DAUGHTER NOW, THANKS VERY MUCH.” 

Niall slumps back against the wall of the church. “Louis?” 

Louis laughs wetly. Niall doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound like this, not even when they found out that Syco would be signing them. “She’s perfect, Niall. You should see her.” 

Niall’s heart beats very fast. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Niall licks his lips. “Why not? I’m – I can come. Is it a bad time?” 

Louis takes a deep breath. “If you don’t get your skinny arse on the first plane to us, I’ll never speak to you again.” 

When Niall looks up from his phone, it’s Maura’s face he catches on first. She doesn’t look disappointed even though they’ve clearly overheard him. She looks like this is what she expects, and she loves him anyway, and Niall’s heart rolls in his chest, feels like. “You take care of yourself now,” she says, wrapping her arms around his middle. Her words come out muffled against his chest. 

Niall closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in it a bit. “Yeah, of course. You know me. Always alright.” "There’s nothing I can teach him," Bobby had said in "This Is Us," and while that was mostly horse shite, maybe it was sometimes true, too. Niall just…outgrew his parents, and the people who’d learned to take care of him were his friends. 

In the car from his house to the airport, Niall decides to call Liam. Hopefully he’s still in LA, although if Louis was calling Niall, then probably Niall would be passing Liam somewhere over the Atlantic. Louis did tend to go a bit mad without Liam. Niall leaves a message on Liam’s voicemail telling him to call when he gets a chance. 

“Love you, miss you,” he finishes the message. He stares down at the phone in his hand. He thinks about what he’s just said. It’s what they all finish their calls with. No one remembers where it came from, either: Zayn’s or Louis’s calls home to their mums, or Liam’s calls to Danielle, or what, but. Niall thumbs open a new message and sends the text before he can overthink it. Miss you, love you. DELIVERED. READ. 

Okay then. 

Louis answers the door looking about ten years older than he had at the airport in Sydney, and a hundred percent more settled into himself. He puts a finger to his lips. “The little babe is asleep, let’s not wake her just yet. Tea?” 

Niall nods. He couldn’t sleep on the plane. Too excited, and he’s never slept well in the air. Something about the plane breaking down and Niall not being prepared for it made him too restless. Louis bustles around the kitchen brewing a kettle of Yorkshire and buttering toast. Niall sits at the bar with his head propped up on his hand, watching him work. The change in his friend is immediate and overwhelming and somehow very subtle. It’s still Louis. It just looks like Louis with a new lease on life. A new purpose. Maybe the one he was meant for all along. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t tell me after all this time you’ve still not gotten over your little crush.” 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Where’s Briana? Sleeping?” 

“Nah, she’s at her place. We’ve decided she’ll stay here for a couple of weeks, and then we’ll go back to hers with Maisie. Get her settled in both houses from the start, hopefully.” 

Niall’s heart clenches in his chest. “You decided on Maisie? I was really pushing for Rocket,” he jokes. He swallows hard. “It’s beautiful, Louis.”

“Briana likes that one author, whatshisname. Henry James. Apparently there was a book, I don’t know. I just know that little actress from Game of Thrones.”

“Arya Stark,” Niall nods. “You could do worse. Honestly, I can’t wait to meet her.” 

“You won’t be saying that when she won’t stop crying, but,” Louis shrugs, looking massively pleased with himself. “Anyway, what have you been up to, Nialler? I have to say, you look terrible.” 

Niall laughs. “Do you have to say it, Tommo? Catching up with family. Same old shit.”

“But a different day,” Louis half-sings, then snaps a glare at Niall. “What did we say are the rules about quoting song lyrics, hm?” 

He rolls his shoulders and his back gives a satisfying pop. “Not to, if I remember correctly.” 

“Good. Don’t,” Louis says, pointing a stern finger at Niall even as his smile spreads. Faint squalling starts up over the baby monitor, but get louder by the second. “That’ll be the princess. Come meet her, eh, court jester?” 

“Pretty sure that’s you,” Niall mutters, but he slides off his stool all the same and trots after Louis through his house. Louis’s always blown his money on the most ridiculous stuff, so his house is full of novelty toys and movie posters and all that kind of raff. It’s the perfect house to grow up in, Niall thinks. Full of fun. 

Louis’s leaning over a white crib by the time Niall makes it to the nursery. The pale blue walls have bunnies on them, and a mobile dangles from the ceiling with little dinosaurs flying over Maisie’s head. One guess who decorated, then. Niall goes and leans over the crib with Louis. Laying on her back, her face growing progressively more red, is a bald-headed baby with Louis’s clever blue eyes. Her gummy toothless mouth is open in a shriek, and her hands reach out for comfort. “Go on, then,” Louis says. 

So Niall picks up the squalling baby. He holds her close to his chest, being careful to support her neck as well as her body, and. “Oh, my God,” he mutters. “Louis,” Niall whispers as the baby quiets, “you have a kid. Like, a real child. In my arms. Right now. Like, this is for real. You’re a dad?” 

“Jesus, Horan, you were at the baby shower,” Louis mutters, but he steers Niall toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room and helps him sit down with Maisie in his arms. “Isn’t she perfect?” he asks, stroking the top of her head. 

“Do you sing to her?” Niall asks, when Maisie’s gone quiet again, her eyes blinking heavily up at him. 

Louis colors. “A bit. You know.”

Niall smiles. “What’s her favorite song?” 

Louis strokes the soft top of her head again. “‘Strong,’” he answers, smiling faintly. Niall’s heart aches sympathetically. “I was worried it would be ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ or ‘Don’t Forget Where You Belong,’ but my girl has good tastes,” he jokes. “Here. Let me put her back down.” They lay her back in her crib, and Louis gives the mobile a gentle push to get it spinning. 

“So,” Louis says, when they’re settled in the backyard with their feet in the pool and the baby monitor within arm’s reach of Louis, “not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here? I figured you’d have work stuff.” 

“I had a writing session with McBusted scheduled, but I pushed it back,” Niall shrugs. “We’ve only been out of work for a week, Tommo. Give me a break.” 

“No, I know, but,” Louis laughs. “I dunno. Me and Liam, you know, we’re proper excited about the label, you know? And I guess I always figured that you and Harry, like, you were proper entertainers. Like, proper musicians. Put you on a deserted island and all you’d need is music to keep you alive. Just haven’t heard much from you since the announcement at the start of August.” 

Niall is reminded of Des’s bungalow. “Do you remember,” he asks, “when we first got put together, and we were trying to figure out our sound, and we kept playing each other songs on that little iPod speaker.” 

Louis laughs. “God, do I. ‘We need to go in with our own sound, lads. We’ve gotta pick covers that sound like us in case we win.’ I was so full of shite.” 

“But you were right, and we did. Not win, I mean, but we got signed. And we had a sound, sort of.” 

“I think the only one who really believed me was Harry,” Louis says. “Christ, I didn’t even believe myself.” 

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, softly. It’d taken him years to figure that out. Harry had just always…believed. “Remember how Zayn played us all that Usher and Jay-Z, and we all tried to rap.” 

Louis nods. “Eh, you’ve gotten better over the years, too. Can proper fast-sing, anyway.” He smiles harder. “And every time Liam got up to put on another show-offy crooning song, we’d all groan and make him get all squidgy about it. Little straight-laced Liam, sometimes I miss that lad. I mean, obviously I don’t miss not knowing him. I just,” Louis frowns. 

“Want to hold onto it,” Niall supplies.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, looking at him sideways. “You took forever to pick a song, didn’t you? One that made you go, ‘This is what I want us to sound like,’ anyway. What was it, again?” 

Niall thinks back. What had Louis said? "Put you on a deserted island and all you’d need is music to keep you alive." That’s how he’d felt about that choice, too. It had to be really – it had to be the most true suggestion Niall could make. Somehow, that was going to be his contribution to the band. He was just going to be really… He didn’t know. He still doesn’t know, really, even now that it’s all over, what exactly it was he gave to the band. 

If he only had one song, that’s how he thought of it. The Eagles, that was the easy part. But which song? “Desperado” was the obvious choice, “Tequila Sunrise,” “Hotel California.” Classic jams. But he’d put up “Learn to Be Still,” in the end. The guitar part was legend but it was the way Don Henley sang it that made Niall think, ‘That’s what I want for us. That’s what I want to sound like.’ All emotion, no bullshit. It reminds him of singing in the choir and the way tipping his head back and singing felt like being transported to another world. 

He clears his throat. “Learn to Be Still,” Niall says. 

Louis smiles slowly. “Good choice, that.” He watches Niall for a moment, and Niall’s not sure what he’s looking for. “What was Harry’s song, do you remember? Was it ‘Sweet Disposition?’” He groans even as he asks. “Is that Harry’s stupidest tattoo? Maybe. And that’s a strong comment.” 

Niall laughs. “No, it was, erm. Stevie Nicks. ‘Leather and Lace.’”

Louis stares at him. “No, it wasn’t. It was ‘Sweet Disposition,’ don’t you remember? Because he knocked over the bowl of popcorn when he got up to put it on, and spilled it all over Zayn, and Zayn dead-legged Liam by mistake.” 

And, oh. Niall does remember that. He feels himself flush. 

Louis’s head cocks to the side. “Why’d you think it was ‘Leather and Lace?’” 

Niall squirms, because now that he’s remembered, the memory feels almost too precious to share. Liam had fallen asleep on the living room floor and Louis and Zayn were outside smoking, so Harry had tugged Niall into one of the bedrooms and pulled out his iPod. He seemed so abashed about Niall maybe not liking his song that Niall realized he was being let in on some kind of secret. That Harry was taking some risk with him. Harry scrolled to the album. The cover art was very 80s: a lady in a white dress holding a bird. 

Harry plonked down on the foot of the bed and plugged a pair of earbuds into his iPod and started babbling. Niall sat down beside him. “Gemma downloaded it? Like, we share a music library, so. It’s not like we can sing it as a five-piece, but, like, your song made me think of this, so I thought maybe you’d want to hear it?” Harry offered him an earbud, and Niall accepted it with care. 

Harry hit play and flopped onto his back, and Niall followed suit more slowly, listening hard. The song opened with these little chimey guitar sounds, and in the first few notes, Niall fell in love. “It’s, um, Stevie Nicks and Don Henley,” Harry said. “‘Leather and Lace.’ Cool title, huh?”

Niall closed his eyes. “It’s perfect.” 

They listened to the song on a loop until Louis and Zayn came back in, and Niall stood looking down on Harry while he wrapped his earbud cord around his iPod. “You should come back to Ireland with me,” he said. “For, like, a weekend, or something. You’d like it.” 

And Harry had looked up at him with that megawatt smile. “I’d love to.” Niall smiled back. 

“Earth to Niall?” Louis asks him, pinching his arm. Niall scowls. “There you are. What happened?” 

“Nothing. Just, I don’t remember.” 

Louis gives him a skeptical look, but lets it slide. Fatherhood must really be making him soft, Niall thinks. 

“You’re happy, right?” Niall asks, before he can stop himself. “Even though things didn’t turn out the way you expected. Are you happy?” 

“Yeah, Nialler. Yeah, I’m really, proper happy.” He stops, and Niall knows it’s because he’s about to tear up. He hears it in his voice. Lou’s hands clench around the edge of the pool. “I don’t think I realized how happy until just now, actually. It’s just. We had one chance, you know? Or, at least, I did. And we really made the most of it, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Niall agrees softly. “We really did it.” 

The next day, Niall gets up early and goes to the gym around the corner from Louis’s house because Louis has no exercise equipment. He hates public showers, so he leaves the gym feeling well fit and also quite sweaty and gross. 

When he’d left, Louis had still been asleep. He’s on the same awake-for-two-hours, asleep-for-two-hours sleep schedule as his daughter, so Niall starts his rental car and hangs a right out of the gym carpark. Maybe he’ll take the scenic route home, see LA a bit. It isn’t until he finds himself slowing down to study the fronts of houses for a sandy brick mailbox and a discreet front porch that he realizes he’s looking for Harry’s house. 

Well, and fuck. What now? Niall chews on the side of his thumb. He has his address, actually. From the return address on Harry’s Christmas card, which was a picture of their cardboard cutouts from the “You & I” fragrance that he’d decorated with Santa hats and beards at his local Target. He’d drawn a little heart around Niall’s head on the card, with a smiley face beside it. 

Damn. Fucking hell. Shit on a stick. Niall goes through a mental rundown of all the swear words he knows while he types Harry’s address into his phone and follows the directions. Jesus.

Niall remembers the four-digit code to get past the gates into Harry’s neighborhood from recording Four, and somehow he finds himself parking in front of Harry’s house, his hand slick with sweat on the gear shift. The lawn is manicured, and there’s an antique-looking convertible parked on the front drive like Harry’s just come home, maybe from the gym himself, or a hike, or yoga. Maybe he’s on another one of them cleanses and he’s been off to buy ten pounds of grapefruit. The last time he’d done that, Harry’d given up halfway through and made Niall eat two grapefruits himself to get rid of it all. One Direction’s whole camp reeked of grapefruit sweat for days. 

Before Niall realizes he’s made the decision to get out of the car, he’s standing on the front stoop, his finger pressed to the buzzer. He waits, then presses the buzzer again. He hears heavy footsteps approach the door, and then it’s opening, and Niall realizes he has no idea what’s going to say. He feels himself starting to clam up, and he wishes he couldn’t smell his own dirty socks. 

But it’s not Harry who opens the door. It’s Jeff. When he sees Niall, he smiles wide and reaches out to shake his hand. Jeff’s one of those guys who squeezes your hand with both of his before he lets go, and that describes Jeff pretty well to Niall. A nice guy, an even better businessman. Niall understands why Harry spends so much time with him. “Niall! I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I – yeah, me neither,” Niall mumbles.

“Harry’s not here,” Jeff says. “You’re welcome to come in, though.” 

“No, I, er, was just dropping something off.” Niall realizes his hands are empty and adds, lamely, “It’s, er, in the car.” 

Jeff nods as if he believes him, or maybe he’s used to the weirdness of Harry’s friends. “Right, okay. Well, he’s out of town for a bit, asked me to keep an eye on his house. You’ve caught me watering his azaleas. Do you want to leave the, uh, package with me, and I’ll make sure Harry gets it?” 

Niall colors. “No, that’s okay. Is he – d’you know when he’ll be back?” 

“Not for a while, he said,” Jeff relays, and something inside Niall trips over hard. Harry must’ve rescheduled or cancelled tons of those meetings he’d had lined up. Why go to all that trouble? “He was pretty vague about it, but,” Jeff shrugs, and Niall remembers how well Jeff must know Harry, too. “I’m glad he’s getting away from LA for a bit. I think the ARIAs hit him pretty hard, you know, that last performance. He seemed pretty cut up about it.”

Niall swallows hard. “Yeah, no, I. I know.” 

“Well, alright then,” Jeff says, smiling politely, and Niall takes his cue. 

“Yeah. Good seeing you, Jeff.” He gives him an awkward salute. 

Jeff answers, “Sure, Niall. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.” 

“Sure,” Niall mutters. “Real soon.” 

***

Niall buys his return ticket to London in his car on the way back to Louis’s. He’ll stay with Louis for the rest of the week and leave the day before Louis and Maisie will go to stay at Briana’s. 

They celebrate their last night at his with a few beers and an Avengers movie marathon. Not Niall’s choice in film, but it makes Louis happy. Halfway through the second “Iron-Man,” Louis’s phone chimes. 

“Liam,” Louis answers Niall’s unasked question. “He was here for a bit, the first few days, and then he flew back to London.” To Sophia, Niall knows. “He’ll be back later this month, you could stay till then.” His hand absently strokes Maisie’s head where she’s asleep against his chest.

“Yeah, how is the label going?” Niall asks. Management and paperwork and all the rest of it sound like a drag to Niall, but Louis’s always had the mind for that kind of thing. 

Louis smiles. “Really well, actually. Really well. I’m trying to pick my first release. Think it’ll be a punk band out of Seattle. American Sirens, they’re called. Stupid name, but good sound.” He sounds so pleased, so settled. Niall can just imagine him now, filling up this new band’s sails the way he’d done for One Direction.

Niall leans his head against the sofa back. “Good for you, Louis.” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees softly, stroking Maisie’s tiny fingers with his thumb where she’s clutching his finger. He smiles sweetly at her. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

The next morning, Louis drives Niall to the airport. Niall sits in the back with Maisie, whose strapped, unhappily, into her polka-dotted car seat. “There, there,” he comforts her. 

“Niall,” Louis sighs, “what do you say to a duet?” 

“People / Always / Trying to escape it. / Move on to stop their heart breaking. / But there’s nothing I’m running from. / You make me strong…”

The flight back to London is long and uneventful, and when the car drops Niall off at his house, he’s greeted by Willie. “Dougie called a couple of times,” Willie tells him, “and your personal assistant sent this along.” 

Niall accepts the package curiously. The only things Claire makes him deal with by himself are magazine subscriptions. Whenever Niall got back from tour in the past, he’d have whole stacks of Mad Magazine, National Geographic, and the Air & Space Museum. This is about the size of a full-body mirror. He pulls out his pocketknife and cuts through the protective packaging, and when he gets through the bubblewrap, he finds an electric guitar. Niall has a guitar, of course, many guitars, in fact. This one looks proper fancy, though, with an engraved metal top and bottom and pretty cherry wood. 

“Who’s this from, then?” 

Willie shrugs. “It’s nice. I don’t know, though. Figured it was something you ordered. A cookie cutter or a new Magic Bullet or…” he laughs when Niall swats at him. 

Niall shrugs and strokes a finger experimentally across the strings. Acoustic like this, it sounds sweet and soft. It’s a bit weird that he doesn’t even know who sent it, though. Niall decides not to get attached until he knows, so he takes himself to the living room for a match. 

Willie goes off to cook them dinner, and the whole time he’s cooking, Niall can’t stop his hands from fidgeting. Eventually he goes back to the entryway and picks up the guitar again. He’s been playing the same twenty-six songs on the same ten guitars for the past year, and most of those tour guitars he left with the sound tech crew. It’s been a long time, Niall realizes, since he’s played something new. 

Niall carries the guitar back to the living room with him and tunes it carefully by ear. He plays around with note changes, with scales, with the riff from “Drag Me Down.” It changes as he listens to it, finding different note progressions, and he plays them over and over again, adding another chord on each pass. 

“Hmm,” he hums, and scribbles a couple of notes on the margin of one of Willie’s discarded crossword puzzles. The phone rings, and Niall lets Willie pick it up. “It’s Tom, Ni!” Willie calls, and Niall finds himself excited to take the receiver from Willie’s hand. 

“Oy!” Tom laughs. “Well, how are the states? How’s the little babe? Is she as much, ah, fun as her da?” 

“Shut up, that’s my niece you’re talking about,” Niall laughs. “Listen, are you free soon? I think. I think I might have the chords for a new song?” 

Tom whoops and shouts to Dougie, who must be in the same room, that Niall’s coming over on Friday, three days from now. “Bring your guitar, obviously,” Tom says, when his mouth’s back up against the receiver. 

“Thanks for the guitar, by the way,” Niall adds before Tom can hang up. 

“What?” 

Niall frowns. “You didn’t…?” 

“Nah, mate, but bring that too! Gotta go, Buzz just spilled apple juice all over the keyboards. Gio? Can you grab a rag, love?” He ends the call, and Niall pulls the phone away from his ear, smiling and shaking his head. 

When Niall looks up, he finds Willie leaning against the doorframe, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “So you’re staying till Friday,” Willie surmises. 

“Do you listen in on all my phone calls?” Niall scowls. 

“And then what?” Willie ignores him. “Back to Ireland? LA? Melbourne?” 

Niall looks at him, and Willie looks worried. Like he knows he has a reason to be, maybe. Maybe. “I don’t know,” Niall shrugs. 

“Okay,” Willie just says, and then, “dinner’s ready in ten, so you better set the table, popstar.” Niall throws a dishtowel at his face for the “popstar” comment but he does as he’s told. 

The session with the McBusted lads goes really well. Like, really, really well. Niall can’t stop smiling on the drive home. Writing music is just such a rush, and Niall has a momentary flash of regret for all the months he spent waiting to move on. 

He eases on the brake as he comes to a red light, his smile slipping a bit. Is that what he’s doing? Moving on? It hadn’t felt wrong to write new songs, but with Harry Judd and Izzy expecting, it’s not like the songs are going anywhere. But if they did. Would that be so bad? Something about it has Niall’s gut twisting, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s flicking his blinker on and turning down a side street. 

Niall parallel parks, pockets his keys, and is bounding up to the door before he can second-guess himself. He lifts the knocker and lets it drop once, twice. “God, this is such a mistake,” he mutters, and then he hears feet and a dog barking. The door swings open. 

“Niall,” Zayn says, his face the picture of surprise. 

“You’ve got so much hair,” Niall says, stupidly, and Zayn reaches out and pulls him into a hug. He smells like Gucci cologne and a little bit like weed and spices, like maybe he’s been cooking. Niall tenses up without meaning to, and Zayn pulls away, his face apologetic. 

Zayn rubs at the back of his neck. “Do you, like, want to come in, then?” Niall just nods, and Zayn grabs the collie’s collar and pulls her away from the door so he can close it. “Maya, no,” he mutters. 

“She’s new?” Niall guesses.

Zayn gives one of his noncommittal nod-shrugs. “A few months.” 

“How many have you got now, then? You must be getting close to a zoo here.” 

He gives an embarrassed little smile, or wait, that’s just how Zayn smiles when he doesn’t feel comfortable. When he feels insecure. Zayn says, “I’ve got, um, paint drying. D’you mind if we talk in the studio?” 

“You’ve got a proper studio now?” Niall asks, thinking of Zayn at the back of the tour bus on the Up All Night tour. He’d draw his knees up and draw against them, and he never stopped complaining about the bumps in the road breaking up his lines. He’d just wanted a day off to be still. 

“It used to be one of Perrie’s old, like, clothes-storage rooms.” 

“As if you didn’t have just as many, if not more,” Niall snorts. It comes back easier than Niall thought it would, being with Zayn. Even Zayn looks more comfortable than Niall expected. Zayn shoulders open a white-painted door, and behind it is nothing but color. Zayn’s kept up with his graffiti-style wall murals but he’s progressed to canvases too, and Niall spots a drafting table in the corner. 

“I’m surprised you have the time for this,” Niall says. It’s always such a marathon to put out an album. Or it was, with One Direction. Promo, then a tour, then all the stuff they’d done during tour, fragrances and adverts and such. Niall’s had so many thousands of pictures taken of his face that he doesn’t see himself in them anymore, just “the blond one” from One Direction. It’s weird, and he tries not to think too much about it. 

Zayn picks up a paintbrush balancing on the side of a paint can and makes a wide blue streak over his red-and-green wall mural. “I don’t really have to do press anymore, like.”

They fall silent and Niall watches Zayn work. He’s got new tattoos on his arm and hand, and Niall doesn’t know the story behind them. He’s not a part of those stories. “Louis’s baby was born,” he finds himself saying. 

Zayn’s hands slow, stop. “Yeah?” is all he says. 

“Her name’s Maisie. She’s gonna be a proper terror when she grows up, but, like – ”

“That’s what Louis gets,” Zayn laughs, finishing the sentence for him. Zayn paints a sky blue border around the outside of his mural, so that now there are two red rectangles in the middle of it. It looks like a backwards window, or something. Zayn would explain it to Liam, and Liam would get it. Niall’s just always liked the way it’s easy to share silence with Zayn. 

“I’d like to meet her,” Zayn surprises Niall by saying. He dabs little yellow spots over the red rectangles. “But I don’t think Louis would want me to.”

Niall’s not sure what to say. “We miss you. Missed you. I guess…it’s different now. We haven’t got the job between us, or whatever.”

“Maybe that’s all we ever had between us,” Zayn says slowly. “I guess I’m afraid to find out.” 

“Did you get my text?” 

“I left my read receipts on,” Zayn says, as if that explains it. 

Niall struggles with himself. “I just, like. Obviously I don’t think it was only the job. Not between me and you, anyway.”

Zayn turns around slowly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Niall.” Niall hears the undercurrent of, I never meant to. It’s not enough, but it’s more than Niall expected. Maybe it’ll do. Zayn plonks his paintbrush into a mug of water and wipes his hands on a towel. “What do you say we smoke a bowl? For old times’ sakes, or whatever.” 

So that’s how Niall finds himself laying in a sun lounger in Zayn’s backyard, trying to blow smoke rings while his head feels progressively lighter and lighter on his shoulders. 

“I like it back here, like,” Zayn’s saying, his voice almost as slow and syrupy as Harry’s. “Just me and the dogs. And the weed.”

“And the tunes,” Niall says. They’re playing Zayn’s new album through the speaker system in his house. Maybe one of his neighbors will record it and it’ll leak, like it always has before. Julian used to get suck a kick out of that. “Meant to say. They’re nice.” 

Zayn laughs. “Mate, they’re not nice. They’re about how much I hated being trapped in the band, like. They’re not nice. But I appreciate it.” 

“They’re honest,” Niall amends himself. “They sound like you.” When he looks over at Zayn, Zayn’s looking at him with the same fuzzy-eyed adoration that he used to. It makes Niall squirmy and pleased. 

“Let’s get snacks,” Zayn says, so they go into his kitchen and Zayn pulls out a couple of bags of crisps and bottles of designer water. 

“God, you’re such a prick,” Niall laughs, studying the bottle. “Fresh from exotic springs… You do know this is a load of shite, right?” 

Zayn just laughs with his mouth full, and he looks so young and so unguarded in that moment that Niall feels Zayn’s soft-eyed look on his own face. They settle down on the couch with a copy of Lego Marvel’s Avengers, which is just as hopelessly nerdy as it sounds. 

The banter is easy and gives way to silence without awkwardness, but when Zayn speaks again, his hands still moving over his controller and eyes still trained on the TV, his voice is heavy and tentative. “Those songs, like. My songs. I don’t want to like, apologize for them, cos you’re right, they were honest. But I never would’ve written them without you, so, like, thanks. Thank you.”

“What do you mean?” Niall asks, keeping his eyes on Zayn even as Zayn steadfastly refuses to look at him. 

“Do you remember that concert in Jakarta, when I was off because of stress?” His hazel eyes flicker over, his lips pressed together. Before Zayn quit yet, he means. When his universe felt misaligned, not totally turned upside down. Niall nods. “I watched the videos from that concert. When I was at home with Perrie, trying to work it out. Checking on my boys. You sang ‘Don’t Forget Where You Belong.’” 

“Like always,” Niall murmurs. After “Better Than Words” but before “Little Things.” 

“Right. So, like. I was watching the video, and my solo comes up, and Louis sings it. ‘When I think of the things I’ve done / Don’t matter how far I’ve gone / I’m always feeling at home.’” Zayn sings softly, but Niall feels it like a cannon to the chest. “Like, that’s how I knew it’d be okay, you know? Because, like, those lyrics weren’t true for me, but they were for you.”

Niall leans forward and puts his face in his hands. “You quit because of my song?” 

Zayn’s fingertips brush Niall’s shoulder like he’s going to put his hand on his back, but then he pulls away. Niall can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. “No, like. Your song set me free, bro.” 

If Niall cries for the first time in a very long time on Zayn’s couch that day, no one has to know. Zayn’s certainly not going to tell anyone.

The mood lightens after they order Indian food and share another joint. They’re sprawled out on Zayn’s living room floor, singing along to his first single at the top of their lungs, when Niall hears someone clear their throat. 

Liam smiles wide. “I hope I’m not interrupting, boys.” 

***

They share their leftover takeout with Liam and squeeze together on Zayn’s leopard-print loveseat to watch Almost Famous purely for that moment on the tour bus when they all start singing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” Harry swears it’s one of the most transcendent moments in film. Also Zayn thinks Kate Hudson’s got great tits. 

Liam wraps his arms around Zayn and Niall and gives them each a friendly squeeze. “My favorite spot in the world, squished between two of my favorite boys. Classic.” 

Niall wishes he had Liam’s capacity for thoughtless, easy declarations of love. He doesn’t worry if it’s returned because that’s not what it’s about for him. Niall lets Liam hold on for a long moment before he starts pretending that Liam’s crushing him. 

“Yeah, so, like,” Niall picks at a loose thread on the arm of a loveseat, “what the hell, mate? You’ve been hanging out with Zayner and not telling us?” 

“Well,” Liam drags out, “you know how it is.”

Zayn laughs. “You’re just scared of Louis.” 

“I’m not saying that’s what it is, but that’s definitely what it is,” Liam laughs. “He was such a terror with Maisie due and the ARIAs and getting the label started, I didn’t want to upset him.” 

“No, like,” Zayn says, his words muffled around a cigarette, “he needs to come to it on his own. I just have to wait him out.” 

“And stop popping off at him on Twitter,” Niall points out, smiling. 

Zayn’s smile is wide and devious. “Yeah. That too.” 

Liam’s hand strokes the back of Zayn’s head soothingly. “Hopefully you’re made up by the wedding. I don’t want Soph worried about two of my groomsmen throwing punches while one looks on at the reception now, lads.”

Niall lets that sink in for a moment. Liam’s going to be married soon. Louis and Zayn will be forced together for the first time since Bangkok. Liam’s going to be married soon. 

It feels real in a way that Zayn’s and Perrie’s engagement hadn’t, but they’d gotten engaged when they were so young. Niall still remembers walking across the red carpet to greet her when they’d arrived at the premier of This Is Us and spotted the whopping ring on Perrie’s slender finger. It was so like Zayn to come to an important decision on his own, and never back down from it. Not even when he knew they wouldn’t ever make it to the chapel. 

Still, the thought of Liam married. There’s no doubt that he’ll make a good husband, and Niall loves Sophia. But Niall can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Liam and Sophia will be LiamandSophia, two halves of one whole and all that shite. It feels very permanent. 

“Hold on a mo’,” Niall sits up. “Liam, did you just ask us to be your ushers?” 

“Sick,” Zayn murmurs. Then, “I call –”

“I CALL BEST MAN,” Niall beats Zayn by a hair. 

Liam laughs. “Obviously best man goes to Andy, boys. I could never pick a favorite.” 

Zayn tucks his face into Liam’s throat, nuzzling his jaw. Niall can tell he’s well pleased about being an usher. Niall grouses, “Bullshit. We all knew Zayn was your favorite.” 

“Like we didn’t know you were Harry’s!” Liam laughs. 

Niall thinks of watching golf with the adjoining door to Harry’s room left open so that he can watch Friends, but they can still watch TV together. He thinks of Harry kissing him on his knees in a hotel room in Sydney, his thumbs stroking Niall’s cheeks. Niall can feel himself flush. “That’s just how Harry is.” 

“Nah, I don’t think so, mate. He had a proper crush,” Liam says, scratching his hand slowly through Zayn’s hair.

And that’s what hurts the most. Niall had thought so, too. For a while there, during the Where We Are tour, he’d honestly believed. Or was starting to believe. Sometimes Niall scrolls through his photo stream while he’s trying to fall asleep and sees the pictures from his charity match. He can still hear Harry’s “That was for you!” and the solid weight of his body colliding with Niall’s, the twinge his knee gave and how, for the first time since the surgery, he wasn’t worried. He was just happy.

And then they went away for the Christmas hols, and there was Nadine and. I guess not, after all, Niall remembers thinking uncertainly. And that’s the worst part. Once you start believing something, it’s almost impossible to convince yourself you were wrong. 

“Whatever,” Niall says, and reaches out to thwack Liam’s knee. He misses and gets Zayn’s instead, and then Zayn tries to grab for his nose and squeeze, and Liam goes to knock Zayn’s arm away, and somehow it evolves into a full-on tussle on the floor of Zayn’s million-dollar mansion. Niall pulls out of Liam’s headlock gasping for breath and tears of laughter in his eyes, and he gives himself a moment to hit Zayn in the bollocks with a throw pillow before he settles back against Liam’s hip. 

“Love you boys,” Liam says. Niall can feel Liam’s eyes on the side of his face. “Daddy Direction” they’d called him, mostly as a joke, but even though Louis’s the one with a kid now it’s still Liam that looks at him like this. Niall doesn’t see his face, but he can feel it. 

“Love you too,” Zayn and Niall chorus, and Niall catches Zayn’s eye as he says it, and smiles harder.

***

It takes time to establish new habits. Now it’s not up late, conference calls or rehearsal or a photo shoot, lunch, promo, concert, recording. Niall wakes up early to take Theo to primary school, and on the days he stays over, he wakes up extra early to make him breakfast. Denise is still early on but she wakes up every morning unable to stop throwing up, so Niall feels taking Theo to school is the least he can do. 

Then he goes to the gym and runs and lifts weights and does physio for his knee. Mark’s come to Dublin with Niall. He doesn’t need as much security these days, and Mark suits him fine. 

It’d been so weird, dividing up the One Direction team last October. Like getting a divorce from three other lads. He and the boys sat through half a dozen meetings, together and apart, to decide who got Lou (Harry), and Sarah’s Kitchen (Louis), and Savan (Liam), because somewhere along the way the line between professional and personal lives got totally blurred. 

Usually he showers, and then he messes around with the guitar a bit. He’s working on his drumming and teaching himself bass, too. It’s easy to lose hours in the makeshift studio of his living room while he waits for the recording studio to finish production. The Kodaline lads have been over, and James Bay, and a few others. Whoever feels like stopping by, really; Niall’s left the invitation open to anyone who feels like having a jam session, and he’s sent more than a couple of promising indie acts in Louis’s direction. 

The Edge of U2 fame came by once because his youngest daughter was a fan, and then he’d come back again, alone, for a jam session. Both of them had taught themselves how to play guitar, but the Edge played unmistakably. Sometimes Niall’s life feels unreal. Just a few years ago he was sixteen hoping to get past the judge’s house on X Factor. Now he was sat across from one of his music heroes with one of his vintage Gibson-Les Paul on his lap. Edge played this on tour for the The Joshua Tree. Mad, mad stuff. 

“I really like ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,’” Niall confesses, when Edge asks. Edge just laughs. “But I like ‘Mysterious Ways,’ too. That opening guitar riff is classic.” 

Edge looks a little surprised. He’s wearing a beanie, but Bobby is enough of a U2 fan for Niall to know that he’s going bald beneath his hat. His face isn’t so angular anymore. He looks softened, worn down in a good way. Niall tries to imagine himself at that age. He still can’t get past February. The last time One Direction does something as One Direction. 

“It’s always interesting to hear what people like,” Edge comments. “You find out what you’ll be remembered for. ‘Mysterious Ways’ was, we’d just written this very popular album that was essentially just us playing at being Bruce Springsteen, the end of the American dream, and then we turned around and made the complete opposite record. All I wanted was a chorus where we said ‘it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.’ That’s all I remember about that song.”

“That’s my favorite part, though,” Niall admits. “Like, it’s soothing. Sometimes you just need to hear that, you know?” Edge nods because of course he knows, and Niall smiles, just a little shy. 

Edge stays till just before dinner, and Niall sees him out with a promise to visit again soon. You’ll be fine, he remembers, standing at the front door with his hand on the knob. Niall still hasn’t heard from Harry, not even for their annual rewatch of Rudy for the American Thanksgiving. 

But Niall met Edge today, and Edge complimented his finger-picking, and he feels like he can. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting while it rings. He starts chewing on a cuticle. 

Harry picks up after three rings, and his voice is as slow and deep as Niall remembers. It actually makes him close his eyes, he’s missed Harry so much. “Niall?”

“Hey, Harry.”

“Hi. Hello.”

Harry’s voice sounds a little off, hoarse maybe, and Niall wants to slap himself. “God, I forgot about the time difference. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“No, it’s,” Harry clears his throat, “it’s fine, Niall. What are you doing?” 

Niall’s wandered from the front door and started organizing his shoe collection. “I’m organizing my shoes,” he admits. “The Edge was at my house today. I had a jam session with Edge.” 

Harry teases, “He’s even let you drop the ‘the,’” sounding more like himself with every word. “What was that like?” 

“Mad. He’s incredible. Showed me the chord progression to ‘With or Without You,’ and we sang it. Just, I dunno. Mad.” 

“I’ll bet,” Harry hums, and goes quiet. Niall’s not sure what to say next. He’s never been good at small talk, and it takes so long for Harry to say anything that Niall doubts he’ll want to stay up for a heart to heart. Christ. What was Niall expecting?

“Well, I’ll let you –”

“Niall, I –” Harry starts at the same time. They both stop, then Harry says, “Sorry, what?” 

Niall says, “No, it’s alright, you go.”

Harry laughs. “This is ridiculous. I hate talking to you when I can’t see your face. How about we catch up tomorrow? I’ll be awake, and you can play me the cover of ‘With or Without You’ you’ll stay up all night learning.” Niall can hear the smile in his voice across four thousand miles. 

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.” 

Niall hears a distinctly feminine voice over the line before Harry must cover the receiver, and something inside of him goes icy and hard. He can just picture Harry in bed with two pillows under his head and a third squished up under his bad back, and some lanky model in bed next to him. 

It’s not like Niall doesn’t expect it. It’s just, if they’re pretending it never happened, he doesn’t quite want to listen to the other people Harry’s bedded down. His skin feels like it’s on fire. “So, tomorrow then?” Harry asks. 

“Actually, I think I’ve got something scheduled. I’ll text you and we’ll reschedule.” 

“O-Okay,” Harry says, clearly detecting Niall’s change of tone. 

“Kay. Bye.” 

“Good night, Niall,” Harry murmurs. 

Niall doesn’t call back. 

He starts setting aside a few hours after lunch to go through all the stuff he’s collected over the last five years as One Direction’s unofficial historian. Willie and his girlfriend boxed it all up or forwarded it from his house in London, and Niall’s going through each box carefully, sorting it all out with care. Putting everything in order. He’s got a big room upstairs that he thinks it’ll look good in. The important bits.

He’s in the upstairs room arranging picture frames on the wall when Louis rings. Niall picks up and cradles the phone to his ear with his shoulder, and he almost smashes his thumb with the hammer when Louis starts screaming. 

“Is it Maisie?” Niall demands. “Is she okay? Louis?” 

Liam’s voice cuts through, so they must be on a three-way call. “Niall!” he laughs, and it sounds wet. “Niall, baby. We got a Grammy nomination. We got to the Grammys!” 

Niall starts laughing and crying at the same time, and he finds himself bouncing like a kangaroo around the room. God. It’d been so worth pushing up that last album’s release date for this. They chatter excitedly for a few minutes, and then the exhilaration gives way to feeling totally overwhelmed. Niall is the first to break the silence. “Does Zayn know?” he asks, and the line goes very quiet. 

Liam starts to say something when the silence gets too awkward to bear, but Louis cuts him off sharply. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Payno. I can call him. I’ll call him. He should know.” 

“He likes it,” Niall ventures to say. “In case that’s what you were worried about. He knows it’s about him, and he likes it. I think he’ll like that it got nominated, Lou.” 

“You-” He sucks in a deep breath. 

Niall closes his eyes. “Louis.” 

Louis’s tone is brittle and cold. “No, just, I didn’t realize I was speaking to a couple of Zayn fans right now, sorry, must’ve mistaken you for two people who weren’t there when someone we called brother decided to up and quit in the middle of a tour. It’s fine.”

He hangs up abruptly, and Niall and Liam are left sharing a guilty silence. “Sorry,” Niall offers lamely. “Sorry, Liam.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it Nialler. You’ve probably just done us a favor. He didn’t say he wouldn’t call, did he?” Liam sounds dubious but hopeful, and that’s more than Niall can say for himself. “So, can I trust you to come out of hiding for the party?”

Niall snorts loudly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just, you’ve become a proper homebody, eh? Anyway, it wouldn’t be a party without you, Nialler. It’s bad enough Haz is missing it for Jeff’s do in LA.”

“You know well I wouldn’t miss your Christmas/housewarming party for the world, Leemo,” Niall grins. 

“It’s not a housewarming party!” Liam protests. 

“Whatever it is, I’m still bringing a gift, so shut it.”

Liam chuckles. “Alright. Love you Nialler. See you soon.” 

“Aye. Soon.” Niall’s thinking, It’ll be February before he knows it. Before he’s ready for it. They haven’t broken up, but if they had, he’d be losing. He makes another phone call. 

Melly answers with a smile in her voice. 

***

Niall’s been to a lot of fancy parties, but the Grammys are on another level. He’s also never seen quite so many famous people, or so much security, in one place. It reminds him of the first few times out as a member of One Direction, before they realized they couldn’t just go and do things without thinking about it anymore, and how the fans shut down several streets in downtown London. For him, just some Irish lad with the smell of grass and cow dung still in his nose. 

“Mad,” Liam declares, leaning over Niall’s lap to see out of the window. The press clamors at the foot of the red carpet, and Niall’s palms already feel slick. He’s glad he wore his Ray-Bans. They’re a nice shield. 

All four of them are packed into one car for the first time in ages. It’s a glitzy limousine with its own minibar and disco ball, which Niall had photographed and put on Instagram with the caption, “Off to th ball !” It got forty thousand likes in five minutes. 

Louis reaches over without looking and tries to tweak Niall’s nipples in his shirt. Niall pulls away, scowling. “Be honest, lads,” Louis says, the tremor in his voice and his hands a dead giveaway to his nerves, “do you think we’ve really got a chance of winning?” 

“Of course we do,” Harry says. Niall allows himself a quick glance over. Harry’s cut his hair and Niall can see the shape of his skull now. His hair’s gone back to those tight curls he used to have, and he looks frustratingly good in his deep red suit jacket. 

“Naturally you think that,” Louis grouses, but Niall can hear how he’s pleased. It reminds him of recording “Drag Me Down.” They’d done a vote for all of Zayn’s parts to decide who got what, and when it came to the vocal runs at the end of the song, Niall fully expected Liam to get those parts. Even after all this time, Liam’s still got the best control of his own voice. But Louis had pushed for Harry to do it, and from the first time they performed it in Indianapolis, Niall got chills. They sounded like the kind of music Niall dreamt of making. 

Liam massages the back of Niall’s neck with his right hand, quick and nervous. “Gotta be honest, lads, I wish Sophia was here.” 

“Oh my God, you’re so married and you’re not even married yet,” Louis wrinkles his nose, and then Phil gives them the cue. Someone opens the limo door, and Niall’s the first one out on the carpet. 

They have a lot of friends in attendance, so Niall spends quite a lot of time playing diplomat and subtly reminding the others of this person’s name. Justin Timberlake takes a selfie with Liam, who smiles at them after with the dreamiest look on his face. 

Once the ceremony starts, it drags on until suddenly their category is up, and it’s going much too fast. Louis has a death grip on the arms of his seat, and Niall’s chewing the inside of his cheek raw. Florence Welch reads out the names of their competition, and then she pauses dramatically to build suspense. Niall thinks he might throw up. “One Direction!” she reads. 

Niall’s out of his chair before he knows it. “YES!”

“GET IN!” Louis fistpumps, and then he’s crying into Liam’s tight hug. Niall turns without thinking and drags Harry into a tight embrace. Harry huffs out a breath against Niall’s neck and then he wraps his arms around Niall’s back. Niall can feel Harry’s heart going a mile a minute and the side of his face nudges Niall’s. Harry’s cheek is smooth against his lips and he smells overwhelmingly good and familiar, and for a split second, Niall thinks he might be about to kiss Harry. 

He jerks away quickly and lets Liam pull all four of them into a loose group hug before they make their way to the stage. Liam gave their first acceptance speech, and he gives their last. “Thank you, thank you, we love you so much,” he finishes. Niall claps along with the rest of the room when they rise to their feet, and then the spotlight dims, and they walk off stage. 

The rest of the night is a revolving door of friends and acquaintances coming by their seats to congratulate them. As the show winds down, the dressing rooms backstage become an open-door invitation to anyone with access, and Niall finds himself shaking hands with Scott Gorham. Niall remembers singing “Dancing in the Moonlight” at his brother’s wedding. He fully intends to play it at his own wedding someday, too. It’s one of the happiest songs he knows. 

Keith Richards approaches him and introduces himself, and Niall stares at him in open-mouthed dismay. “Keith Richards,” he says, and holds out his hand. 

“I know who you are,” Niall says stupidly, and then he laughs. 

“It’s not polite to assume,” Keith drawls.

Niall laughs again. “Keith Richards. I’m Niall Horan. ‘M a big fan.” 

“Me too,” Keith smiles. 

The show comes to a close, and Liam begs off early to get home to Sophia. Louis does the same. He can’t wait to bring their trophy home to show Maisie. Niall just shakes his head. They’re like proper adults or something. Louis walks the Fall Out Boy lads out of their dressing room, and then it’s just Niall and Harry. 

Niall hears Harry’s voice, soft, on a phone call. He thinks about just walking out but that’s too rude even for him, so he lingers to say goodbye. “Kay. Love you too, Mum. Bye,” Harry hangs up. “My mum,” he explains unnecessarily, his eyes a little damp. “She says hi.” 

“Hello to her,” Niall answers, half-smiling in spite of himself. 

For a moment, they’re quiet. Just looking at each other. Harry’s curls are starting to frizz up a bit, and Niall can see the lines beside his mouth and at the corners of his eyes without him even smiling. He hasn’t changed at all, Niall thinks. Then he’s halfway across the room, pulling Harry into a kiss. 

“Fuck, stop,” Niall pants as Harry’s hands slide down the back of his trousers. 

Harry pulls back, his lips and eyes dark. “Sorry, sorry.” He starts to disentangle himself.

“No, don’t be, I just,” Niall squeezes his hips. “You’re not seeing anyone right now, right? Like.” 

“No! No, you know I’d never,” Harry says, but Niall knows that’s not strictly true. He’s seen the gossip rags at the checkout when he’s buying groceries. They’ve been right before. Niall just doesn’t want to butt in where he doesn’t belong. It’d taken long enough for things to go back to normal with Ed. 

“Me neither. Nothing serious.” 

“Good,” says Harry, and reels him back in. Niall’s hands find their way to Harry’s hair, and he pulls a little, as much as he can with it so short now, and Harry groans right into his mouth. Niall starts walking them backwards to the ottoman wedged between two overstuffed armchairs. He flips the lock on the door on his way past. “Can’t get on my knees for you,” he says, “but this’ll do.” 

Harry comes to stand between Niall’s legs, and his fingers squeeze Niall’s shoulders before he runs his big palms down the length of Niall’s back. “D’you think this is like the Grammys curse?” he asks conversationally. “Like the Oscars curse, but not.” Harry’s hand cups the back of Niall’s neck. He strokes Niall’s hairline with his thumb.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Shut up, wouldja?” He works Harry’s belt open and undoes his fly, and then he pulls Harry’s suit trousers and pants down his legs. It’s much easier than last time, although that might be because Harry still wears his suits a size too big. He’s never done this before, though, so he leans in and sucks a bruise into Harry’s hip to distract himself. Harry jumps and laughs, swatting at Niall, but the way his dick twitches is a dead giveaway. 

He’s almost fully hard, so Niall gives him a few tugs to get him all the way there, going off the stuff he likes. He knows what to do next, and it’s weird, because he’s never wanted to give any of his other mates a blowie, but this has his mouth watering. Niall licks his lips and swallows. 

Harry seems to think he’s nervous, because he begins massaging Niall’s scalp with his fingertips. Niall’s head rolls back into Harry’s hand. His whole body goes boneless. He groans lowly. “Alright, enough, enough.” 

Harry laughs softly, and Niall readjusts his grip and takes Harry in. He can’t go too far because he’s still got the worst gag reflex in the world, but it’s not hard to figure out what Harry likes. Niall’s mouth slides off with a soft pop and he tells Harry, “Give me a warnin’,” and then goes back in.

His eyes are closed, cheeks hollowed, when he feels Harry run the pad of his thumb over where Niall’s lips are stretched around him. Harry’s body goes tense, and Niall’s pulling off before Harry even squeezes his shoulder. He’s not quite fast enough, though, and he leans away with come smeared on his cheek and chin. “Christ, I think you almost got me eye,” he splutters. He pinches Harry’s arse. 

Harry jumps and comes back down laughing. “Heeyyy.” He stoops down and licks his own come off of Niall’s face, and Niall groans and tries to push him away. Harry straightens up with a mad grin on his face. He pulls his trousers back up and tucks himself back in. 

Niall pushes himself to his feet, his knee only creaking a bit. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls on his coat sleeves. When he looks up, Harry’s eyes are trained on him. He’s got that look on his face again, that one Niall can't bear to look at, and Niall wants to tell him to piss off, but he also wants to blow Harry again. Niall settles on sharing another sloppy kiss with Harry. Harry runs his hands down the front of Niall’s suit jacket. “You’re wearing the same suit,” he mumbles. 

“It’s a good suit,” Niall answers, feeling dumb. He hadn’t really expected Harry to notice. His phone chirps, so Harry gives him enough space to dig it out of the inside pocket of his coat. It’s Mark, reminding Niall that his flight leaves in an hour and a half. Niall sighs. “My flight. I have to…”

Harry thumbs the pulse point on Niall’s wrist. “I’ll see you soon? And we can, like, talk, if you want.” 

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll ring you,” Niall says. Harry pulls him into a tight hug, and maybe this is what Niall had missed most. His best friend. 

***

If Niall expects Melly not to be upset at all about him breaking it off between them, then he’s maybe a little bit of an idiot. And if he doesn’t expect her to go to the press spinning their casual fling into some dramatic romance, then he’s a total moron. She’ll come out of it smelling like roses. It’s a good career move. People have been using them from the start. Niall had just gotten lazy. Felt safe. 

Zayn rings him up to talk about it. “At least you weren’t engaged,” he offers. “At least she’s not pregnant.” 

The press are calling him a “womanizing popstar frat boy,” but Niall snorts and says, “Thanks, Zaynie. That really helps.” 

“S’what I’m here for,” he says. “Actually, I’ve got a show starting in a few minutes, I have to go. You’ll be okay, love?” 

“Always,” Niall answers. 

Strangely enough, it’s Laura who’s the most comforting about it all. He goes out with the LIC on a weekend in London, and they sit side by side at the bar, nursing twin pints. “She was never good enough for you, anyway,” Laura’s saying, and Niall laughs. 

“No, s’like. The press are right? I was just using her to make someone else jealous. I thought she knew, like.”

Laura cuts him a sideways look. “Did you really give her a key to your house? And take her on playdates with Theo?” 

Niall groans and puts his head down on the sticky bar. Ever since Melly had come out with her story, Irish paps had been making a fortune selling photos of Niall at home. It was pretty sickening. “I thought we were friends?” 

“Jesus, Nialler,” Laura laughs. She puts her hand on Niall’s back and rubs it in soothing circles. “You should’ve asked me to do it. I would never have fallen in love with you.”

“I know,” Niall groans again. “It was so stupid.” And it’s seeming like it totally backfired. Harry hasn’t taken one of Niall’s hundred phone calls. “So, so stupid.” 

“Well, you live and you learn, babe,” Laura says. “Be less of an ass next time, huh?” 

Niall can see his distorted reflection in his empty pint glass. Unshaved jaw, bumpy nose, uneven eyebrows. He had his hair touched up for the ARIAs, so it’s starting to get a little shaggy. Except there’s not Lou an arm’s length away to take care of it for him, and does he really want to keep bothering with the upkeep, anyway? He’s been blond since One Direction started. Maybe it’s time he’s not anymore.

“Laura,” Niall peels his face off of the bar. “I have an idea.” 

She takes one look at him, rolls her eyes, and finishes the rest of her pint. “Oh, Christ. Okay. Lay it on me, Horan.” 

The drunken stumble to the nearest Tesco costs them one of Laura’s heels breaking en route, so Niall gives her a piggy back ride. She picks out a pair of one-pound pink My Little Pony sandals from a bin, and then they go to the pharmacy section. “Which is closest to your natural hair color?” Laura asks, holding up two boxes of brown dye. 

“I dunno,” Niall says. “I don’t remember.” 

“Well, this one looks like your eyebrows,” she shrugs. They buy the sandals, hair dye, and three candy bars. They eat the candy while they wait for their taxi to arrive. The car brings them back to Niall’s house, and they blast Frank Ocean’s debut album while she works the dye down to his roots. She washes it out in the sink and rivulets of water run down his collar cold and abrupt. He looks up into the mirror and feels another wave of shock flow over him. “I look like me da,” he says.

Laura helps him towel dry his hair and he curls up on his bed with the towel still wedged under his ribs. On her way to his guest room, Laura stops to stroke the side of his face. Her nails are sharp on his cheek. “Dunno about your da,” she murmurs. “You don’t look like yourself anymore, though.” 

Niall’s eyes flicker open. Maybe that had been the point. 

Eventually Harry does pick up. “I don’t want to be mad at you,” he says.

Niall’s chin drops to his chest. “But you are.” 

“I just.” Niall hears Harry struggling with himself. He tries so hard to stay calm. “You asked me if I was seeing anyone, and then -”

“It wasn’t serious!” Niall cuts in. “It wasn’t anything!” 

“It was to her!” Harry snaps back. Niall hears him breathing raggedly down the line. “I thought after everything that happened with Taylor you’d know. I don’t want to be that guy. That guy who cheats on his girlfriend. Or who someone’s boyfriend cheats with.” 

Harry sounds so betrayed. Niall doesn’t think he’s ever felt lower in his life. “I’m sorry,” he offers meekly. He knows it’s not enough, and he starts to feel angry, defensive. “But it’s not like you were there. We fucked and then you avoided me for ages, what was I supposed to think?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know.”

“What kind of bullshit is that? You must’ve had a reason, Harry! Come on.” 

He doesn’t say anything. For a moment Niall can’t hear Harry breathing, and he thinks Harry must’ve pulled the phone away from his ear as if to hang up on Niall. “You don’t have to be cruel,” he says quietly. “I’ve never exactly been subtle, Niall.” 

Niall’s brain whirs, but the conclusion he comes up with is beyond belief. Niall presses his back against the wall and slides down, drawing his knees up to his chest. He can’t imagine all that he’s just lost.

“I’ve got yoga, I’ve got to go,” Harry eventually says. “I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“When?” Niall asks, feeling desperate. 

“I don’t know, Niall,” Harry says softly, and then Niall’s phone screen goes dark. He tips his head back against the wall and tries very hard not to think at all. 

Niall throws himself into his new recording studio. He paints the walls a soft grey himself, and that’s demanding enough that he loses a few days to it. Then he brings in his guitar collection. He had them hung on the wall in his London house, but he wants them within easier reach this time around, so he sets about installing racks that fold out from the wall. 

It isn’t until he’s bent over his acoustic guitar that he makes the connection. The new guitar is still leant up against the wall, waiting to be tuned before he shelves it neatly. He picks it up and turns it in his hands. The metal strings vibrate under his touch, making a low thrumming sound. He remembers seeing this guitar now in the Gibson catalogue. 

“Buy it,” Harry had said, breathing over Niall’s shoulder. 

“It’s thirty thousand pounds.” 

“So?” 

Niall laughed, tipping his head back. Harry frowned down at him upside-down. “I can’t just drop that kind of cash.” He plucked at the hem of his shirt. 

Harry’s face eased into a smile. “You’re not that kid making his own dinner and putting himself to bed in Ireland anymore, you know.” 

He’d just hummed and turned the page, letting out a little sigh. He’d thought Harry had dropped it, but apparently he hadn’t. 

The first guitar Harry bought him was a vintage Les Paul. He’d presented it to Niall like it was always Niall’s, and he was just giving it back. “I can’t take this,” he’d tried to protest. Even if his hands itched to strum the chords. 

“You can teach me how to play,” Harry had said. “And we’ll call it even, alright?” His eyes shined hopefully. 

“It sounds like I’ve got the bad end of this deal,” Niall had joked even as he dropped the guitar strap over his head and adjusted it in his lap, his fingers plucking out the chords to a Pogues song. 

Harry held up his hands, smiling wide. “Too late now.” 

Niall’s chest feels like a wildfire. He can’t not do something. He calls Gemma. 

“Irish!” she greets with a laugh. “How are you, Nialler?”

“Good, good. You?” 

It sounds like she’s adjusting the phone, and then Gemma comes back, sounding more serious. “This is about my brother, isn’t it.” 

Niall sputters. “I – what? I mean, why would you – he – ”

Gemma says, “Calm down, love. I’m his big sister. I know everything.”

“I fucked up,” Niall acknowledges. 

“So did Harry,” she fires back. “Look, he’s at his house in London at the minute. You should go by.” 

“London? What’s he doing there?” 

“You’ll have to ask him. Personally, I think it’s to do with him wanting to be close to this boy he’s hopelessly in love with.”

Niall’s heart stops, then lurches sideways in his chest. Nobody’s ever said those words before. In love with. Niall checks his watch. If he leaves now, he can be in London in time for dinner. He slides his Supras on and grabs the Gibson. He scoops up his keys and he’s on his way to the airport. 

He spends the whole flight tapping his foot incessantly and chewing his fingernails down until they bleed, and then he switches over to his cuticles. It makes the passengers around him nervous, and Niall tries to quash the need to pick himself apart. 

He hits the walkway at a run, grabs the guitar from the luggage carousel, and flags down the first taxi he sees. He opens the door and flings himself into the backseat, and the driver checks him out in the rearview mirror. He rounds on Niall, his eyes wide. “Aren’t you that guy –”

“Not anymore,” Niall says curtly. He rattles off Harry’s address and tries to sort out his hair with his hand. He’d left home without doing it up for the day, and he feels self-conscious about it. 

Harry doesn’t answer the first time Niall rings the bell, so he presses it again and leaves his finger on the button. 

“Coming, coming!” he calls from within, and he’s frowning when he opens the door. “It’s very rude to –” He stops when he sees the guitar case, and then he runs his eyes over Niall. He does a double take at his hair. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to return this,” Niall says, thrusting the guitar at Harry. “I won’t accept it.” He tries to ignore the fact that there’s several hours of audio recording of him already playing the Gibson.

Harry folds his arms across his chest and leans against the jamb, pursing his lips. “It’s a gift, you have to accept it.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t want it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Harry demands. 

“I get it, okay? I’m Keith Richards. But, like. I don’t want to be Keith if you’re not Mick.” 

Harry’s expression is dazed. “Why don’t…why don’t you come in?” 

Niall doesn’t realize how hard he’s breathing until Harry steps back to let Niall past. “Don’t even think of offering me tea right now.” 

“Okay. Just – ” Harry indicates with his head for Niall to follow, and Niall trails after Harry to the kitchen, where he can smell something cooking. It smells amazing, and he’s mad at himself for wanting to eat right now. 

A little blond head turns at the bar and then there’s a tiny little person running at Niall’s knees. “Niall!” 

Niall’s head swims for a second. “Lux?” 

She hooks her little chin over his shoulder and Niall takes the cue, wrapping his arms around her little body and scooping her up. She squeezes his waist excitedly with her knees. “You smell different,” she says. Then, “Your hair is a different color!” 

“Yeah, Laura helped me dye it,” Niall mumbles distractedly. He tucks a lock of hair behind Lux’s ear dazedly. “I missed you so much.” 

Lux leans in and hugs him again. “I missed you too! Wanna see my drawings?” Harry’s gotten out washable paint for her to play with, which is good, because it’s smeared all over her. Some of it transfers to Niall’s clothes, but he doesn’t care. She’s got a paint-handprint, and a painting of herself and Lou and Harry, and one of the dog she wants. 

Harry goes back to the hob while Lux catches Niall up. She presses a piece of paper into Niall’s hands, so he finger paints with her until Harry decides it’s time to clean up. Niall pins Lux’s art up to dry and wipes down the countertop while Harry holds her up to the sink, halfway to giving her a bath as he scrubs her arms clean. He laughs when she splatters water all over his face, cackling like mad. 

There are so many things that Niall is squirming to say, but he waits. He waits until dinner is over and he’s carried all the dishes over to the sink. He waits until Lux is sufficiently distracted with her tablet in the other room. Then he folds his arms across his chest and watches Harry scrub the plates and forks and pots clean by hand. 

“Thanks for dinner,” he says. “It was great.” 

“You’re welcome.” He’s taken his rings off to do the dishes. They’ve left tan lines on his hands. He glances up at Niall. “Lou’s on holiday for a week. I’m babysitting.” Niall takes a deep breath, but Harry cuts him off. “Wait till Lux is asleep, alright?”

Niall concedes, and he picks up a towel and starts drying off the dishes. Might as well, while he’s here. 

It isn’t for several hours, until Lux has knocked out in the middle of a Scooby-Doo marathon, that Harry puts her to bed. Her fingers curl around her favorite giraffe stuffie. He draws the covers up to her chin and lingers over her to kiss her forehead goodnight. “Niall too,” she whispers, so Niall bends over and kisses her forehead, as well. “Love you,” she says. 

“Love you too,” he answers. Harry shuts the door behind them quietly. They go back to the living room, and Harry shuts the TV off. They’re left in silence, and with the lights turned down low, it’s dim and cozy. If Niall wasn’t so anxious to get everything unspoken off his chest, he could go for a kip on Harry’s couch easy. 

Harry holds up a finger and goes back to the kitchen. He returns with an ice pack that he wedges between his spine and the seatback he’s leaning against. He lets out a pained sigh. 

Niall asks, “How bad is it?” thinking of the months after his surgery in which Harry had asked him that. They’d worked up this whole system of answers because Niall refused to call a ten a ten. 

“Not so bad. Just preemptive, really.” Even though it’s finally starting to warm up outside Harry’s wearing an oversized jumper, and for a mad moment Niall thinks about shoving his head under the soft fabric and letting himself fall asleep with his cheek pressed to Harry’s stomach. Harry licks his lips nervously. 

“I love you,” Niall says preemptively. Before Harry can say something that changes anything. “Like, first off, full stop. In every way.” 

Harry reaches out and drags Niall across the couch. Niall buries his face in Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s hand cups the back of Niall’s head. “Me too,” Harry admits. “Like, from the moment you pulled out your guitar at boot camp. I was sat next to you on these bleachers outside and you were playing for all of us, just, like, pulling us through, you know, and you were my favorite thing. You were the best part.” He smooths his hand over Niall’s hair. 

Niall closes his eyes. “Me too.”

***

Niall adjusts the microphone. Sweat drips down his temples, and he blinks into the bright stage lights. He smiles, looking sideways. “What’s next? ‘Dancing in the Moonlight?’” he suggests, only half-joking. 

Harry groans. “We’re taking requests,” he drawls into the microphone. “We’ll do anything except Thin Lizzy.” 

“‘What Makes You Beautiful!’” Andy drunkenly shouts. 

Harry laughs into the mic. “Niall and I would, too,” he says.

“That’s a solid tune,” Niall adds, smiling hard.

“But,” Harry adds, “because it is Liam’s and Sophia’s special day, we will refrain.” Niall thinks he hears Liam give a sigh of pure relief from the wedding party’s table and Zayn’s horsey tongue-behind-his-teeth laugh that never fails to make Louis laugh, too. 

“Consider that our wedding gift,” Niall puts in, thinking of the personalized stationery Harry made them buy, and the record-collection shelves Niall secretly bought and mailed instead. 

Harry glances at Niall and he’s already halfway out of his seat, taking the Gibson off as he goes. Instead of setting it aside on the rack, he passes it over to Harry, who carefully settles his fingers along the frets. Niall sits behind the drum kit. Josh’s drumsticks are worn smooth, soft as silk between his fingers. 

“But maybe we’ll play an original, instead. Niall?” 

Niall gives the cymbal a friendly tap. “Take it away, Harry.”


End file.
